The Space_Time Displacement Conundrum

by Milo James Fowler

  Episode 26: Locked Up

  Hank sat on the edge of his cot, both sets of his shoulders slumped despondently. Sitting across from him in the cell, Captain Quasar didn't look much better.

  "Permission to speak freely, sir," Hank said at length, his voice a garbled grunt as his twin throats fought for dominance.

  "Granted." Quasar blew out a sigh.

  "What were you thinking?"

  In all honesty, the captain had no idea. He thought he'd find the brig eventually if he searched every deck, but instead he'd only succeeded in getting captured—after leaving more than a dozen Amazonians either stunned by his Cody 52 or nursing burns courtesy of the Incinerators he'd borrowed. He glanced at his shoulder, where a foul-smelling salve had been slapped on by the Formidable Grace's doctor—another giant woman but with significantly less muscle mass. She'd towered over Quasar like a stern tree as she'd manhandled him in the name of medicine.

  "Captain?" Hank grunted, stirring him from his reverie.

  "I thought things would turn out differently," Quasar admitted. He'd seen the future, hadn't he? Neither he nor Hank had been stuck in here; they'd been pinned down in a cargo hold, instead. No safer, true, but at least they had been free.

  Was that moment yet to come? Or had Quasar's actions on this timeline kept it from ever occurring? He had no idea. The only thing he knew was that in the future he'd already experienced, he hadn't suffered this awful wound to his shoulder.

  "Take heart, ol' buddy," he said. "We're not out of this yet, but we soon will be. I promise you that."

  "Humph." The very hairy Carpethrian helmsman shifted his shoulders like an uncomfortable large bird. "You should have returned to the Magnitude," he muttered.

  "And left you here to die? Not an option."

  "They won't kill me."

  Quasar raised an eyebrow at Hank's certainty. "You must not have heard the commander. She plans to use you as a throw-rug in her bathroom."

  Hank squinted up one eye. "And I hear she's sending you to the nearest sperm farm."

  The captain chuckled without much mirth. "Then it would appear we're both done for, my friend." He rose from the cot in a single movement, pacing the length of the three-meter cell with his hands clasped behind his back. "Only I refuse to see it that way."

  "They don't seem like the lenient types, sir." Hank's superior set of shoulders rose and fell. "And after you took out half their crew—"

  "I may have exaggerated that a bit." Quasar counted off on his fingers. "Half a dozen wounded, seven unconscious. But they should have expected as much. They took us against our will!"

  Hank nodded. "One second, I was at my post. The next, here." His head leaned to one side as he appraised the captain. "Where were you?"

  Quasar cleared his throat, facing the transparent shock screen that kept them contained in their cell. Outside in the center of a large, white guard post with similar cells spread out like spokes from the hub of a wheel, a large Amazonian snoozed in a padded chair with her gargantuan boots propped up on her desk.

  "I found myself—" He paused, feeling the tips of his ears burn at the recent memory. "I was under a form of interrogation."

  Hank glanced at the captain's wound. "Brutal?"

  Quasar recalled the mental image he'd envisioned while facing Asteria's glistening, muscled body as she slithered across the bed: two chestnuts, smashed to smithereens. He had never been so afraid for his own well-being, yet at the same time, he now found himself hoping Asteria was all right—a moment of cognitive dissonance, indeed. "You could say that."

  Hank rose from his cot and shuffled to stand beside the captain. His fur stood at attention due to the static electricity of the shock screen. "Thinking of trying it again?"

  As soon as Quasar had been tossed into this cell by the three Amazon women who'd cornered him, disarmed him, and spanked him—a humiliating moment, to be sure—he had charged headlong into the screen. The impact sent him flying against the far side of the cell, where he'd bounced off the plasteel wall to find himself hurled back against the screen a second time, only to boomerang against the wall and rebound for a third. Eventually, Hank had to step in to save the captain from serious injury.

  "Let's try something else." Captain Quasar raised his voice. "You there! Amazonian. Your prisoners are trying to escape!"

  The woman's eyes shot open, and her boots dropped from the desk. Wiping a slug of spittle from her jaw, she fixed her ferocious gaze on Quasar through the screen. "Shut up, you." She cursed in words the translator in the captain's collar didn't recognize. "You're not going anywhere."

  "That's about to change." Quasar raised his chin in a pose he liked to think of as The Confident Starfarer. "You are in violation of more United World laws than I could shake a gavel at, including the capture and detainment of a ship's captain and his helmsman against their will, subjecting said captain to horrific acts of violence—" He gestured at his shoulder wound. "—and stealing certain firearms from weapons stores that were by no means yours for the taking. How do you plead?"

  The woman blinked back at him as if she'd only understood a fraction of his diatribe. "You have absolutely no right to speak to me—"

  "Because I'm a man? Is that how things work around here?"

  With another low string of curses, she returned her boots to her desktop and crossed her brawny arms, by all appearances settling in to resume her nap.

  Quasar turned to his helmsman. "Sing, Hank." It was a drastic measure, but they were running short on options. "Sing!"

  Episode 27: A Carpethrian Anthem

  Hank grumbled, his twin throats gurgling in protest. "You said you never wanted to hear—"

  "The situation has changed, ol' buddy. It's time for you to belt out whatever suits your fancy. Perhaps a Carpethrian battle hymn or some such?" Captain Quasar kept one eye on their Amazonian guard. She would not be dozing for long. "Give it all you've got!"

  With both pairs of shoulders slumping, Hank stared at the floor and shook his head, at first appearing as if he would not obey the captain's order. But then a low note escaped him, followed by another, and eventually his second throat got in on the action, keening in a dissonant octave at a much higher register, notes that had no business sharing air space with each other.

  "That's the stuff." Quasar winced. The noise was enough to set his teeth on edge.

  Hank straightened his shoulders and raised his chin, all four of his hands placed upon his very hairy diaphragm where both his heart and lungs happened to be located. With profound reverence, the Carpethrian burst forth in a stirring rendition of something that sounded like the noise made by the rusted gears of some machine long past its prime, along with cats of some rare species, dropped into said gears and caterwauling as they were crushed beyond recognition. Quasar later learned this was the Carpethrian national anthem of solidarity.

  Covering his ears for the sake of his own sanity, the captain grimaced at the Amazonian who woke with a start and now glared hideously through the shock screen at Hank. "Stop that noise this instant!" She rose to stalk toward them.

  "I must apologize," Quasar shouted, cringing from Hank's heartfelt solo. "I believe he's only on the first verse."

  The woman appeared to be having difficulty hearing him. Squinting and covering her own ears, she jumped slightly as the quartz elements of her desk shattered after Hank reached a particularly high and off-key note.

  "Aren't you his commanding officer?" she demanded, turning her fury upon the captain.

  He nodded, glancing at Hank, who had closed his eyes. Such was the patriotism of a true Carpethrian. In all likelihood, he longed to revisit his home world. He had, after all, been taken rudely away from his beloved Carpethria, once upon a time, and—

  "Make him stop!" the woman shrieked. The capillaries in her eyes had burst, as had a few of the blood vessels in her nose, causing a trickle of crimson to leak out of her left nostril.

  Quasar beckoned her closer to the shock screen. "Turn thi
s thing off, and I'm sure he'll have no reason to lament the end of his furry life."

  "Is that what he's doing?" Her gaze, fraught with consternation, flicked to the Carpethrian.

  The captain shrugged. "It's the way of his people, I suppose. He is bidding them adieu, despite the thousands of light-years that stand between them." Quasar sniffed suddenly and rubbed at his nose. His finger came away bloody. "Poor guy has no reason to live anymore."

  The woman's eyes blazed. "You make him stop, or I'll—!"

  "Kill us?" Quasar gave her a smirk. "Not much of a threat. The way I see things, we're dead anyway. He'll be skinned to make a fetching bathroom rug. I'll be churning out sperm in one of your farms." He shook his head. "I'm sure I speak for the both of us when I say please kill us now."

  Both of her ears were bleeding under the deluge of Hank's horribly misfired notes, his throats wailing like two off-key sirens. The Amazonian shook her head sharply as if to clear it, her bloodshot gaze on the floor as she staggered off to one side. Apparently, Hank's singing was affecting her equilibrium.

  "I'll make you stop," she grated out, snatching the Incinerator from her holster. Quasar's shoulder throbbed wildly at the sight of the weapon. She reached for the control panel beside their cell. "The commander's rug will have a few singed hairs, I'm afraid!"

  Quasar caught Hank's sidelong glance as he reached the end of his anthem. There was no fear in the Carpethrian's deep-set eyes. The captain gave him an unnoticeable nod.

  Their moment had arrived.

  Just as the shock screen came down and the woman pulled the trigger, Hank released the most high-pitched, wildly horrifying note imaginable, and the Amazonian jerked back as she was hit by the very hairy helmsman's sound wave. Meanwhile, Captain Quasar lunged forth from the cell and planted two solid blows on the woman's chin, first with his right hook and then with his left uppercut. (Imagining she was a very ugly man made his work easier, and it didn't take much imagination at all.) A few large teeth left her mouth with a spurt or two of blood, and she went down hard, striking the back of her head against her desk and leaving a scarlet streak on the white plasteel. Hank charged out of the cell behind Quasar, and at first it was difficult to discern whether the Carpethrian had ended his operatic nightmare or if Quasar's ears had simply rebelled, refusing to hear anything else.

  Seeming to understand the captain's deafness, Hank tugged at Quasar's arm and pointed with his two right hands toward what appeared to be a walk-in storage closet beside the guard's desk. Inside, they found just what the captain had been looking for. The walls were lined with scores of Cody 3000 atom rifles and Cody 52 sidearms, stolen right off the Effervescent Magnitude.

  "Take as many as you can carry," Quasar said, unsure his words sounded right.

  Hank nodded, tucking a pair of Cody 52s into the fur flab around his middle.

  Suddenly an Incinerator's blast struck the doorframe, showering them both with charred debris.

  Episode 28: Second Time Around

  Captain Quasar ducked, whipping a loaded Cody 52 from his belt and firing out the door. Hank had taken an atom rifle and crouched at the ready. The floor vibrated with heavy footfalls in the brig's central hub. From the feel of things—the captain had yet to regain his hearing—there had to be at least a pair of Amazonian women stomping around out there.

  Using a complex series of hand gestures, the captain signaled Hank to aim low while Quasar sidled along the wall, weapon ready. Reaching the doorframe, he cringed as another Incinerator blast struck with great force, jarring the plasteel. He fired two quick shots, the pulse rounds hitting the guard's desk and frying every electronic component in addition to the ambient light controls, plunging the brig into darkness. It couldn't have turned out better if the captain had actually planned it or aimed at anything in particular.

  "Surrender, Earthman!" one of the Amazonians shouted. But to Quasar's ears, her voice came only as a dull murmur—an improvement, nonetheless.

  "I see you have acquired more than a few of our weapons!" He laughed to show his courage in the face of adversity. "I would say you're outgunned. You surrender!" He nudged Hank in the dark, and the very hairy helmsman fired the atom rifle. The ray of energy illuminated the cell block outside in a ghostly blue glow for a split second as Hank's shot found its mark: one of the Amazonians. She jerked back on impact with a short cry, dropping to the floor to nurse her wound. "Nice one." Quasar had forgotten that Carpethrian eyes could see fine without any light source whatsoever.

  "Humph," said Hank.

  "One down, one to go," the captain called, taunting the remaining woman. He fired another pair of pulse rounds into the guard's station, but they did little more than light up the room before striking the far wall and fizzling to black. The Amazonian remained hidden.

  "Commander Luscenta is on her way." The voice came from outside the storage room. She undoubtedly stood with her back to the wall, closing the gap between them. "You will not stand a chance, Earthman."

  "Don't forget Hank," he said.

  She paused. "Who?"

  "My Carpethrian helmsman. He has quite a voice." Quasar nudged the very hairy biped. "Care to give her an encore?"

  Hank cleared his throats one at a time. "Another anthem?"

  "If you'd like." Quasar grinned expectantly.

  But alas, there was no anthem. There were no dissonant notes. Only Hank clearing his throats, attempting to sing, gurgling and gargling. That was about it.

  "What's wrong, ol' buddy?" The captain kept his voice low.

  "What am I supposed to be hearing?" The Amazonian sounded slightly bewildered.

  "Sorry, Captain," Hank muttered. "I might have torn something with that final note earlier." It had been a doozy, after all. "My throats won't cooperate."

  Quasar gripped his Cody 52.

  "Throw down your weapons and step out," commanded the woman.

  There was no other choice. They wouldn't be able to remain in here indefinitely, despite the extensive cache of weapons. But Quasar wouldn't be throwing his weapon anywhere—not without himself attached to it.

  Gritting his teeth, he lunged out of the doorway, his gun grasped in both hands as he twisted in mid-air like any hero would, squeezing the trigger as he aimed blindly in the dark. The first pulse round illuminated the Amazonian where she stood against the wall, her eyes widening at his sudden appearance and the shot fired in her general direction. The round went wide, striking the wall beside her shoulder, but Quasar corrected his aim as she trained her Incinerator on him. Both fired at the same moment.

  With a groan, the captain hit the floor, his uniform smoking across the chest. She'd nicked him. But she wouldn't have another chance to finish him off. Jerking involuntarily as Quasar's pulse round fizzled out in the middle of her abdomen, she foamed at the mouth and dropped to the floor, out cold.

  Hank shuffled over to where the captain lay.

  "Just a flesh wound." Quasar struggled to his feet. He could smell his own flesh, and it wasn't a delightful aroma. "To the Magnitude!"

  "What about the weapons?" Hank gestured back at the storage room.

  "We'll be lucky to get out of here with our lives." Quasar led the way from the brig to the corridor outside, quickly performing mental math. By his calculations, he still had eight pulse rounds in his Cody 52 pistol. Hank lumbered along behind him carrying the atom rifle.

  "Which way?" the helmsman grunted.

  Captain Quasar had no idea. But that didn't stop him from forging ahead. "Follow me."

  What eventually stopped him from forging any farther was the squad of well-armed Amazonians headed straight for him. Firing his weapon at the one in the lead, he turned on his heel and grabbed a handful of Hank's fur, tugging him in the opposite direction.

  "Earthman, stop!" Another squad came up the corridor, Incinerators at the ready.

  Quasar shot one of them as well. "This way!" He charged headlong against the door on the opposite side of the corridor, bracing himself for the
impact, prepared to break it down if need be. But it swished open to allow him entry into the dimly lit cargo bay beyond, filled with plasticon storage containers stacked on all sides.

  "We're trapped," Hank grunted at their obvious predicament.

  "We'll hold out as long as we can." Quasar jogged between the rows of containers, his gaze sweeping across them as he searched for the right one—the one he and Hank had hidden behind before, when Asteria had arrived to rescue them from Commander Luscenta's fury.

  He could only hope things would play out the same way the second time around. Or was this actually the first?

  Confounded space-time displacement!

  Episode 29: Ready to Blow

  As Captain Quasar crouched low behind the freight container with his Cody 52 at the ready and Hank shuffled up beside him with the atom rifle charged for battle, Steve materialized out in the open, leaning on his oaken staff with a broad smile. He certainly had a way of coming and going as he pleased.

  "Get down!" Quasar hissed without thinking.

  "Doing my best," Hank grunted, retrieving a pistol from his fur flab while holding the rifle in his two right hands.

  "I'm fairly certain their Incinerator blasts will pass straight through me, Captain," Steve said, "but I thank you for your concern, nevertheless." His eyes twinkled in the sparse light filtering down through the grate above. "It appears our company has arrived."

  As if on cue, heavy boots thundered into the cargo hold, at least half a dozen pairs, as the commander of the Formidable Grace and her entourage stormed inside with Incinerator blasts aimed in all directions. Quasar and Hank cringed beneath the heat rays, but Steve threw back the hood of his cloak and laughed out loud.

  "You'd think they would exercise more caution," he mused. "Very little in the way of a barrier separates you all from the cold void outside."

  "They're wearing pressure suits," Quasar said. It gave the Amazonians a clear advantage.